Eileen
There are two sides of me fighting ferociously with every breath I take. And I don’t see a resolution to the conflict anywhere in sight. The look on Ciara’s face as I walk into the tearoom tells me it’s going to get worse before it gets better.
“I owe you an apology.”
“You’re a fucking snake,” Ciara snarls as soon as she sees me.
For a moment, I look at the teapot and cups on the table, just within her reach. My stepsister seems furious enough to hurl one or all of them at my head, so I keep a reasonable distance just in case.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” I say.
“Eileen Fiona Donovan, you’re a snake.”
“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Will you just let me explain?”
She throws her hands up in the air, sheer exasperation coming off her in waves that practically ripple across the room. “What’s there to explain? You lied to my face! You stole my fucking fiancé away from me!”
“It’s not like that, I swear.”
“What’s it like, then? You saw my man, you knew you’d never get a prime piece like Anton Karpov on your own, so you decided to pull your father into the middle! Taking advantage of the fact that you’re the true, blood-born Donovan!”
“Oh, my God, Ciara, no, I promise it was nothing like that! I don’t even want to—”
“A fat bitch like you could never get a man like mine. So what did you do, exactly? What happened that night? Did you roofie him? How’d you get him to put a baby in you?”
My blood runs cold.
As I stare at Ciara in heavy silence, trying to wrap my head around how one person can be so mean, entitled, and hurtful, all the common sense that I’ve held on to for so long shatters into bits and pieces.
Judging by the look on her face, I think even she realizes that she’s gone too far this time.
“I didn’t know who Anton was when I slept with him. But I do know that my father told you what happened that night, just as both Anton and I described it. He saved my life. What happened at his place afterward, well, it happened. I asked him his name several times, but he wouldn’t tell me. Had I known who he was, I never would’ve let it happen.
“Blood or not, we’re still family. We grew up in the same house, under the same roof, following the same rules, and abiding by the same traditions. And, yes, we’ve had plenty of disagreements, and your mouth often gets the better of you—”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, you heard me. You can be so incredibly mean, though all I ever did was support you,” I snap. “Well, this time, shit happened. But I swear to you on my mother’s grave that I would’ve never allowed that night with Anton to end the way it did had I known who he was.”
“Bullshit,” Ciara spits and crosses her arms, slowly moving closer to the window. “You’ve always been jealous.”
“I’m pregnant with his kid,” I say.
She gives me a hard look. “Yeah, I got that part. I got it when your father told me I wouldn’t be able to marry the man of my dreams because you screwed him first.”
“The man of your dreams?” I mutter. “What is it about him that makes him the man of your dreams, Ciara?”
“He’s a Karpov. He’s the head of the Bratva! He’s powerful and influential, rich beyond any girl’s wildest dreams. He’s gorgeous, and other women drool over him. Need I go on?”
“But what has he done to make you love him?”
“He chose me, not you. That’s what he did.”
“My God, Ciara, are you hearing yourself?” I ask and take another deep breath. “He didn’t choose you. My father offered your hand, and he accepted. You’re acting like I stole your goddamn high school sweetheart. I know it sucks, and I wish it had never happened. I wish I could have just kept the pregnancy secret just a little bit longer.”
“Why didn’t you? Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?”
I shake my head slowly. “Anton overheard me with the paramedics.”
“Bullshit. You did it on purpose,” she hisses. “I’ll tell you one thing, Eileen. We may be family, but I’ll never forgive you for this. I’m not interested in your Kuznetsov leftovers either. I wanted Anton. Well, you can have him. And I pray to God that your smug satisfaction turns to ashes in your mouth.”
“Trust me, there is no satisfaction here.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I hope you have a shitty life together.”
“You don’t mean that,” I reply, tears quick to sting my eyes.
She nods with furious passion. “Oh, I mean it. I’ll be civil out of respect for your father. But I will never let you take anything else that is rightfully mine, Eileen. Mark my words. You will pay for this.”
“Ciara–”
“I don’t want to hear anymore. I need to be alone,” she says, then opens the terrace doors and steps out. I can hear her cursing as she goes deeper into the garden, her voice gradually fading while my tears flow freely.
Shame burns in my chest.
There’s no coming back from this, that much is clear. And no matter how many times or how clearly I explain myself, Ciara will not see past the mistake. She’s the victim, and I’m the monster. Her own anger has poisoned her, and she’s displaying the fact that she was rarely told no in her life.
I find my father in his study, nursing a glass of scotch.
He looks paler than ever, his eyes bloodshot and his hand shaking as he sets the glass down on the desk.
“You shouldn’t be drinking,” I tell him.
“Can you blame me?” he grumbles.
“Well, no, not really. But still, you shouldn’t. Have you seen your doctor lately?” I ask, as I take a seat in one of the guest chairs. “You should get yourself checked out, a full blood workup, and everything else in between.”
“Eileen, what do you want?” my father sighs heavily. “I’m tired and I really don’t want to talk about my dwindling health.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“I’m getting old!” he snaps. “I’m getting old, and it sucks! I would’ve liked to have seen both of my daughters happily married and well taken care of by now, but no. You and Ciara had to make everything a thousand times harder than it needed to be.”
“It’s the twenty-first century, Dad! You don’t need to arrange marriages for your offspring anymore!” I reply, raising my voice. “My worth, Ciara’s worth, they’re not dependent on the men who marry us! You’re not breeding champion stock here!”
“You’re still Donovans, and this is still Chicago,” my father says. “The old rules still apply to you. Had you been born a Johnson somewhere in Detroit, I might’ve said, ‘Yeah, let the girl do whatever she wants with her life.’ But you’re not a Johnson. You’re a fucking Donovan, and so is Ciara, which means that you two get to carry my legacy forward, just like I carried it when it was my turn.”
“You speak as though we’re royals.”
“We are royals in this city, and we must follow tradition. It’s the only way for us to survive as a family and as a business.”
I give him a tired shrug. “What about my life? My dreams? My business? None of that matters as long as Ronan Donovan secures his financial empire, right? As long as the other mobsters of Chicago know that you rule over your turf with an iron fist. Because that’s what this is about, isn’t it? It’s about everybody else seeing how good and obedient your girls are.”
“Eileen, someday you’ll understand. I can’t force you to see things from my perspective. You still lack the emotional maturity. Unlike your sister, however, you also lack a single inkling of obedience that would ensure your survival, which is why we’re doing things this way. For your own good.”
“For my own good.”
“Yes. You’re pregnant and momentarily unwed. The father is the head of the Karpov family and the current top seat in the Bratva. The mess you find yourself in is of your own making,” my father coldly reiterates.
“I didn’t get myself pregnant,” I mutter.
“True, but I can’t take that up with Anton without starting a war. And that’s not what any of us need right now. So, whether you like it or not, you’ll do as you’re told, Eileen. You’ll marry Anton Karpov; you’ll bear children and move on with your life. And you’ll secure the Donovan legacy. It’s either that or destitution.”
“Destitution?” I ask, my eyes widening as I stare at him.
My father calmly swirls what’s left of his whiskey in the glass, then downs it all at once. “That’s right. I will cut you off. And I think you know me well enough to understand that it’s not a threat. Your sister will be glad to have more of my fortune all to herself. But you’ll be miserable. And one way or another, you’ll crawl back to me and beg for mercy. So, save yourself that despair and protect the child you’re carrying. The kid shouldn’t be blamed or suffer because of your choices.”
“Wow, laying on the Irish Catholic guilt pretty heavy there. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“You’re damn right!” he shoots back. “Now, go rest. Eat well. And take good care of yourself. You’re going to be a mother and a bride. Lord knows, I need some peace before I head out tomorrow to try and mend things with Kuznetsov.”
